Turning a Blind Eye
by Okami-chan
Summary: G1. Ratchet confronts Hot Spot over a piece of information that should have been mentioned some time ago.


Turning a Blind Eye

* * *

Hot Spot looked up at the sound of someone storming into his quarters. He was surprised to see that it was Ratchet. Normally it would be Prowl, coming to talk to him about something one of his team members had done. It made him quite nervous to see the CMO coming in here with such an irate expression. Had he disobeyed any of Ratchet's medical directives? He ran a quick systems check, hoping that was it, rather than the much less desirable reason that crossed his processor first.

Everything checked out fine.

Damn.

That meant it was that other, much less desirable reason that brought Ratchet to him. One of several possibilities.

Ratchet clenched a datapad in his fist, looking as though he longed for nothing better than to lob it at Hot Spot's head. Since the CMO had a damn good throwing arm, Hot Spot prepared to duck.

Several of his team members, well slag, the _rest_ of his team members currently lay offline in the medbay, waiting on Ratchet to get to them. The last battle had not gone well for the Protectobots and he was fortunate to have gotten off as lightly as he did. Though he preferred to be offline rather than worrying about the status of his Protectobots.

Ratchet glared at him, not having said a word since he'd come in.

Hot Spot frowned, glancing back at the datapad in the CMO's hand. What if one of them had…

"Is there something wrong, Ratchet?"

"When were you slagging going to tell me?" the white and red mech snapped as soon as Hot Spot's vocalizer cut off.

"Sorry?" He lifted his hands as Ratchet stalked closer.

"Sorry? Oh, you're going to be sorry all right. Do you realize what could have happened?" The datapad waved under Hot Spot's nose, moving too fast for the team leader to see what was on it.

"What?" He took a step back, trying to keep the CMO from pressing too close. "I don't understand."

"FRAGGING CHILDREN!" Ratchet suddenly howled, throwing the datapad to the ground. "You could have gotten one of _my_ patients _killed_, do you not understand that? If I had been told, I would never have accepted First Aid on my medical staff. As a matter of fact-"

"WAIT!" Hot Spot didn't want First Aid to lose the coveted position. If he did, Prime wouldn't allow him to work on any of their crew members. It would gutter his brother's spark. "Wait, Ratchet. What's the problem? I've never heard you complain about him, and I mean _really_ complain, before."

Dental plates squealed, as Ratchet bent over to scoop up his discarded datapad. He shoved the pad into Hot Spot's hands.

"I never complained before," Ratchet snarled, enunciating each word slowly and carefully, "because I didn't know your brother was slotting BLIND!"

Hot Spot lifted his head from the angry scribbles that covered the screen before him. "Blind?" The words 'non-existent optical relays' jumped out of the screen at him. His optics widened with realization. "Oh." It bore repeating. "Oh!" Oh slag! He, and the rest of the team, had gotten used to their brother's disability. Had helped him through it initially. It had slipped their cortexes to even mention it to their new Commander. He grimaced, eyeing the justifiably wrathful mech before him.

"Oh? How the slag did that glitch pass his full systems check… You didn't."

Hot Spot winced, dragging a hand down his face. "We had to. He would have been devastated if he was denied his certification." Hot Spot looked up, pulling himself straighter. He was a team commander, and it was his duty to look after his teammates. "He worked hard for it. He _deserved _it."

Ratchet glowered. "He deserves a kick in the aft. And so do you. Bend over and I'll happily oblige what you've worked _so_ hard for. Pits, you don't even have to bend over, just hold still."

Hot Spot matched Ratchet's scowl with one of his own. "He knows his limitations, he would never have endangered one of _his_ patients."

"Do you think this is about _him_?" The CMO roared. "This is about the patients, some of whom are supposed to be _your_ friends, that I have placed in _his_ care. That I have placed in _danger_ because _you_ tampered with exam results."

"Just because one of his systems is faulty, doesn't mean he can't do his job. He should have proven that by now." Hot Spot snapped back. "He adapted his scanners to make up for the loss of his optics. _I_ would never have trusted him with the rest of the Protectobots' _lives_ if I didn't think he could do it." The blue mech thrust a finger at Ratchet's windshield. "He knows what he's doing."

Ratchet slapped Hot Spot's hand away. "And you think it's okay that you _lied_ to your commanding officers?"

Hot Spot's vocalizer buzzed with brief static as he cut off the first retort that popped into his vocalizer. "No," he snarled. "But for First Aid, I would do it again." He glowered at the medic. "You wouldn't know what it's like. You have no brothers."

"You're right, and it's an admirable quality. But, that doesn't make it anymore right." Ratchet scowled and turned to leave.

Hot Spot lunged and grabbed Ratchet's arm. "Wait, where are you going?" Ratchet scowled at the Protectobot. "You're not going to tell Prime?"

Ratchet snorted. "Why the slag not? I'm taking that boy off the medic roster, and Optimus is going to want to know why."

"Can't you at least talk to him? Give him a chance? Jazz doesn't have-" Hot Spot winced at his mistake.

"How the fragging Pits do you know about Jazz?" Ratchet narrowed his optics. "That smelted little slagger. Doesn't he know about patient confidentiality?"

"Ratchet, you were thought to be _dead_. They released your work on Jazz's visor when they hadn't heard from you for over a hundred vorn. They fueled trainees on your research." Well it wasn't technically a lie. They had released a lot of Ratchet's research. They didn't however release the _names_ associated with that research.

But Ratchet didn't need to know that.

The CMO glared at the Protectobot leader, his lips turning down in a frown. "Alright, fine. I'll talk to him, but that's all I'm promising."

* * *

Author's Notes: This is my objection to the bit of fanon that Jazz needs a visor because he's blind, or his vision is otherwise impaired. Having said that, I'm going to be using that bit of fanon myself in another story. ;; This little bit of personal fanon, though not the situation itself, will make an appearance in one of my current WIPs.

Why First Aid? Because, who would it be the most detrimental to not have their sight, then a medic?


End file.
